


Have Your Cake

by DoubtingRabbit, Lenticular



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: F/M, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Male-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, exploratory sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubtingRabbit/pseuds/DoubtingRabbit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenticular/pseuds/Lenticular
Summary: And eat it, too!Aziraphale doesn't have much experience with "the fairer sex" and the good Nanny is here to correct it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth/Brother Francis (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 130





	Have Your Cake

The nanny marched through the garden, her severe heels banging out little gunshots of irritation on the tile path. Maids and interns and bodyguards stayed well out of her way as she stormed towards the gardener, clutching in her hand a pot cradling a delicate, and moldy, plant.

Off the path, onto the lawn, towards where he was babbling inanely at an entirely too spoiled rhododendron.

"Explain yourself!" Crowley hissed, and she shoved the delinquent foliage in his face.

"But, wh-, just, I'm to what? Explain what?!" Blustery babbling was Aziraphale's only possible response on such a short notice. He took the plant after a quick fumbling with the pot and looked it over, powdery white puffing from the leaves, all green against a red sunset. He smiled at it. "Aw, like Christmas."

"No!" Crowley snapped, already knowing the cause was lost when he saw that smile. "Not at all like Chri-- like that! I had to look at that, angel! While airing Warlock." She gestured expansively at the estate as a whole. "It's because you coddle them; plants need discipline, not spoiling!"

Holding the plant to close his chest, Aziraphale said, "I don't know what you mean! I water them and I talk to them, just like they say you're supposed to in all the gardening books."

"I talk to them too," Crowley said irritably, "only properly! None of this ridiculous pampering! No, you mark my words," she pointed, with distinct menace, at the cellulose hooligan in Aziraphale's arms. It sighed with relief in his arms as they both knew what Crowley meant and tried very hard not to; it really was a little darling plant. "--you make an example out of that one, see if they don't grow better."

"An example...?" Aziraphale echoed, looking down at one of All God's Little Creatures and swallowing. He stroked one of the infected leaves, brushed the powder off on his frock and said, "I suppose I do have some fungal spray in the potting shed for it."

Crowley threw up her arms at the foolish sentiment of angels and gave up.

"Fine! Spoil it rotten! See if I care!" she said, but she trailed after Aziraphale towards the potting shed anyway.

"The spray will work just fine," Aziraphale said, reassuring himself as much as he did his counterpart. It had a spotty track record, certainly, but it was better than what Crowley had in mind--sure, her houseplants were breathtaking, but at what cost!?

Doffing the smock and with it much of the air of Brother Francis, the angel began digging through the bin next to the shockingly clean workbench scattered with more books on gardening than tools or soil. He came away with a small box containing a bag of bright green powder and a pamphlet on its use.

Crowley snorted, brushed off a chair and sat herself down in a manner that would be very unladylike if anyone outside the shed had seen her. (It was only Aziraphale, and if a demon couldn't lounge around her friend and opponent, where the heaven could she?)

"Here," Aziraphale said. He put the plant back into Crowley's care by placing it in the wide-open space between her knees. While he scanned the paper and began spooning the formula crystals into a little green plastic spray bottle, the rhododendron began to quake as if in a breeze.

"I don't know why you insist on being so cruel to the poor things. It's trying its level best, Crowley, dear, and besides, I think I've been doing quite well with the Dowling gardens over the past two years!"

Crowley glared down at the plant until it was sufficiently cowed, then raised her eyes to the angel again, along with an eyebrow.

"I'm teaching them to be their best selves, something you should understand. It's what you do with humans, isn't it?"

"Well, Nanny-dear, you do get more flies with honey," Aziraphale tutted, shaking the bottle to mix the water and crystals. "Not sure why anyone would want flies, but the adage stands."

"I, personally, eat them," Crowley said, obliging him and raising the plants, holding it at arm's length. "And don't get that stuff on me. Bad enough I have to deal with human snot on a daily basis."

Aziraphale attempted to not look entirely disgusted and failed on a spectacular level. Somehow he managed to keep the misting centralized on the potted darling. 

"You know, you really don't hate this all that much," he mused, catching her gold eyes behind slipping sunglasses while he spritzed. "I can see you enjoying yourself with the humans."

Which Crowley knew was true, but what kind of demon went around admitting to that sort of thing. She pursed her lips and kept her eyes on the plant (which seemed to strain towards Aziraphale, the little coward).

"I am doing my job so I don't get a reprimand," she said instead. "Who enjoys lugging around a toddler all day?" 

As if she hadn't spent a productive and adorable morning playing 'colour in all the countries of the world' with Warlock.

"Well, the mortals, for one," Aziraphale said, eyeballing the plant, biting his lip in concentration, and squirting it once more for good measure. Looking over the top of the poor quivering plant, he winked at the demon and added, "They did make a whole job category for it, which you happen to occupy at the moment. And are quite good at, too. Little Warlock thinks his Nanny hung the moon, you know." 

He nearly extended the compliment that she'd make a good angel, again, but then thought better of it.

Crowley fought back a happy smirk at that. Warlock was an assignment, no matter how sweet his speech impediments, and the last thing she needed was Aziraphale warbling on besottedly about how pure the child's influence was and how much good it would do a demon.

"Of course he does," she said, wobbling the plant so it didn't feel too safe. "I'm working to corrupt him, remember? He thinks the Good Brother is a benevolent wizard - quite literally - which I take to mean you're doing your part too. Well done, you."

Aziraphale smiled at that, no reservations whatsoever. Picking the plant back up and watching it droop in relaxation, he put it near a sunny, if dusty, shed window as he said, "We do make rather good godparents, don't we? I'll credit you with your deeper knowledge of human nature. You spent more time talking to the mortals in Uruk."

Aziraphale had spent more time with the cuneiform.

"Yeah, I'm still surprised nobody got on your back about that. I'm pretty certain you weren't sent there to sequester yourself in the library for months on end," Crowley said, uncomfortably slouching once more. Of course, she - or he, at the time - hadn't been sent there at all, but then, her orders had been pleasantly vague back then.

"I think you only came out to talk to those twinks in the priesthood," she said, half under her breath.

"Mm. Isn't the word 'twunk'?" Aziraphale asked, vaguely distracted as he put away the bottle and his gardening smock for the evening and fussily brushed potting soil from any perfectly normal surface.

"No, angel," Crowley said firmly, "those priests were twinks through and through." She sat up straight and looked around hopefully. "D'you have any alcohol around? I fancy getting a buzz."

"Oh! They're no more 'twinks' than you've ever been! In fact--"

Aziraphale paused, looked a bit sick. He was just about to note how very much each other of those Uruk priests had burnished red curls and a wicked sense of humor. Best not to pick at that thread too much…

"Ah, yes. A little something we left from our last Meeting of the Minds, I think."

The angel ducked under the work bench, swaying as he searched for the spare bottle of whiskey they'd left behind and Crowley took the promise of a drink as her cue to start picking the hair pins out of her tight bun and let her hair down. After this, she was doing short hair again, she decided. Too much work, keeping her curls in order.

She shook out said curls with a little groan and at the sound, Aziraphale turned to see the nanny as she was--it knocked the wind right out of him. And so, he quietly set up a couple of glasses,  _ miraculously  _ found a little ice in the thermos on the bench, and drew out two drinks without once making eye-contact with Crowley, instead humming a little tune just short of nervous.

Six thousand years gave you the feel of a person, and Crowley liked to think she had a pretty good idea of what Aziraphale was About. So when he started bustling in a very understated way while humming a tune that clearly had no real composer, she raised an eyebrow at the angel. "What's bothering you now? Oh, it's not 'cause I called them twinks, is it? Let's be honest, angel, you've always bent that way!"

"What?! No! No, no, no, not at--wait, bent what way?" 

"Twinks," Crowley said. "The twinkier, the better. Hell knows you've little interest in anything buffer, and I doubt you've ever see a woman naked. Are you gonna give me that drink or what?"

"Now, that's not true at all! I saw you naked just last month when you were changing," Aziraphale said. Sure, Crowley had been quite genital-less at the time, but he was absolutely certain it counted. Such surety only made his own inner-thoughts all the worse and his blushing impossible to hide.

Aziraphale pushed Crowley's drink to her and cagily sipped his own.

"I don't count!" Crowley said. "I don't even have nipples unless I decide to!"

She grabbed her drink and was about to sip when she realised that Aziraphale was going all ruddy. The demon squinted slightly in the gloom, then grinned.

"Angel. Are you blushing? Did I hit a nerve?"

"I- no! Well, yes. Not a nerve, though. But, ah," Aziraphale babbled on, trying hard to say anything that was not exactly what he was thinking. "No, it's not that I'm against it! Just that ... I've, ah, never had the opportunity to meet with the, ahem, daughters of Eve."

"Uh-huh," Crowley said, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. She sipped her glass, then set it down firmly. "Well, you've the opportunity now, haven't you?"

"With who?! " Aziraphale asked in a scandalized squawk.

Crowley looked genuinely insulted for a moment, then gestured at herself with, perhaps, a bit more force than necessary.

"I-- oh. No, no, no. I couldn't. For one--" Aziraphale visibly floundered "--you're still dressed!"

And even with the sunglasses on, it was painfully obvious that Crowley was rolling her eyes as far back as possible (not far; snake eyes were less than mobile).

"Fine," she said and stood to unbutton her severe suit jacket. "Have it your way, angel."

"Have what my way exactly?" Aziraphale asked, already quite sure of the answer to the question as inch after inch of sunless-hell-pale skin was revealed and his own grew redder and redder.

"I'm giving you an anatomy lesson, angel," said Crowley, shrugging off her jacket and moving onto the pseudo-victorian blouse underneath, one pearly button at a time. She turned her back - or more to the point, rear - to Aziraphale. "C'you get my skirt zipper for me?"

Taking part in his own torture, Aziraphale complied and unzipped it for her while saying, "I really don't think this is at all necessary, Crowley..."

"Oh, it's clearly necessary," Crowley said, tugging free and shrugging off the blouse, revealing pale skin with a faint sheen of scales and straps of expensive black lace.

"I just don't see what the big difference could possibly be, they're all mortals, and oh--oh, my. " 

The angel's babbling came to a whimpering halt at the sight of Crowley half-nude and in such, ah, tantalizing lingerie? Yes, expected of a demon, certainly, but, heaven help him he was fidgeting and trying to avoid looking directly at her.

Crowley shimmied out of her skirt and came back around to face Aziraphale, the smirk on her face making it very clear she knew exactly why he was having trouble.

"There are minor biological differences," she assured the angel. "Hang on; gotta focus for a bit." 

She bent her thoughts toward bending her body, plucking at all the strings that let her control its shape and characteristics; nipples, easily done, genitals-- nothing fun (sadly; vagina dentata or a little face were always showstoppers) but it still took a moment of extra care, just for the way all the nerve endings were spread out.

Aziraphale tried to focus only on Crowley's face, but that made it all the worse when she screwed up with concentration and a thousand naughty thoughts flittered through his mind. So rarely did he ever feel that way about seeing some mortal flesh, but this was all very different. To keep from fidgeting, he locked his fingers together and failed at keeping her eyes from following the delicate lines of lace tracing down her body.

"Right," Crowley said, shifting a little at the sudden feel of newly sensitive flesh pressing against lace. She gestured at, as it were, her decolletage. "These are breasts. They are fun to play with, whether on yourself or on someone else. Squish nicely, is why. Go on."

"I do know what breasts are, Crowley," Aziraphale said snippily, but then came up entirely short in his actions. At arm's length, he reached out and gingerly took each breast in one palm, awkwardly weighing them while a burgeoning smile. "Oh. Oh! Well. That is rather nice, isn't it?"

"It is," Crowley agreed, watching that dopey smile spread on Aziraphale's face with something between amusement and exasperation. The angel knew what breasts were, but he clearly had no idea what to do with them.

"You should try having some yourself, you know," she suggested. "Get a proper feel for them. But until then, I suppose..." 

"Me?! Ooh, no no no. I couldn't possibly," Aziraphale said.

She reached back, undoing the clasp on her bra and Aziraphale looked near mortified as the bra (a delicate and intricately designed confection of lace, and weren't human beings exceptionally clever?!) fell off into his hands, face as shocked as if he'd done it by miracle and not Crowley herself loosening it.

"Yeah, you could," Crowley said. "S'easy-- well, alright, maybe I'm more used to changing shapes than you, but you still have the ability, you know. Just put that down somewhere, angel." She gestured at her now bare breasts. "These are nipples; you should've seen them on your twinky priests too, but on women they serve an actual purpose."

"I have, and I'll thank you to stop using that word!" Aziraphale said with a plaintive pout, but did as he was told and gently folded up her lingerie before placing it on a stool. Turning around again to face her again, he seemed stunned by the nudity he had just been witness to a second before and took to blushing again. Had he his wings out, they would have been ruffled.

"I'll stop using it when you stop running after 'em," muttered Crowley, entirely oblivious to what other twinks were (usually) in Aziraphale's orbit. For now, the temporarily-not-twink wiggled a bit. "Go on, then. Get the feel, since you won't make your own."

The bouncing was hypnotic. Against his better instincts over those feathers in his stomach, Aziraphale took hold of them again. This time, the angel didn't just grin; he giggled.

"Told you they were fun," Crowley said, just a touch smugly. "Careful, though, they're sensitive. Or, I guess," she made a thoughtful face, "there's a larger area of sensitivity? Hard to describe."

"L-larger area...?" Aziraphale asked, but he was already miles away, bouncing her breasts in each hand between kneading at them like a greedy kitten.

It wasn't ideal, but it wasn't bad either, and Crowley leaned into the touch slightly. "Yeah," she said, "you know, not just the nipple-y bit, like with your twinks. Although, yes, obviously those mostly."

"Ah, yes, right," Aziraphale said with some false measure of knowing-what-he-was-talking-about, studiously avoiding her pink lemonade nipples and instead focusing his attention on the way the lamina of scaling imprinted into Crowley's breasts that caught the light with each squeeze and press.

Aziraphale was clearly taken - not even a protest at the word 'twinks'? - and Crowley supposed she was flattered, had the angel not taken to repeating the same squeezes over and over again, like a half-asleep cat.

"Right!" she said firmly. "Onto the other bits!"

"W-w-wh-wha-what?" the angel sputtered, looking up with wide eyes. He had just gotten used to her breasts! 

Crowley unclipped her garters from her stockings with business-like efficiency, the better to slide off her panties and Aziraphale's gaze slid down Crowley's body to the recherché threadwork enclosing the next brave new world available to him.

"C'mon, angel, there's more to this body than its boobs. Right." 

"Well," Aziraphale said barely holding himself together and watching Crowley with her panties dangling from her finger as she looked around for somewhere to sit at a proper (or improper, as it were) height.. "That certainly doesn't look like any illustration in any medical text I have ever seen."

Granted, he'd only ever read medieval ones, but nonetheless.

"If six thousand years of dealing with humans have taught me anything," Crowley said, jumping onto a workbench and spreading her legs, "it's that you can never trust anything you read about vaginas. C'mon, angel, don't be shy now."

Aziraphale reached into his front vest pocket and removed his reading glasses, placing them on the tip of his button nose. (He kept meaning to file the form to correct his corporeal engine's farsightedness but the glasses were far too handy.) He leaned in close, still blushing quite a bit, but now with a more studious nature. Crowley wiggled her feet and leaned back on her hands, watching Aziraphale struggle between propriety and curiosity.

"Suppose I could contrast and compare," Aziraphale said, distant.

"Suppose you could," she agreed. "Preliminary observations?"

"I--ah, it's very--" He trailed off with his fingers hovering in the air and fluttering with apprehension, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to have any closer of a look. Glancing up to see Crowley staring at him expectantly from above.

"... pink?"

"It is, at that," Crowley said with the sedate air of the world's most irritating zen master - which, in Crowley's experience, was all of them, and she was jealous that she hadn't thought of it first - and waited, eyebrows raised, for more.

Aziraphale gave her an ingratiating smile in return before drawing his hand over the little mound between her legs and the little glittery, coppery curls felt like silk under his fingertips. Crowley managed to keep to a slight shift of her shoulders at that brush of always-warm fingers, and pretended that they hadn't made a jolt surge through her. He shivered.

"... soft??" 

Which, genuinely, was very different for Aziraphale in his previous experiences with mortal-owned genitalia--all hard and straining. 

"Well, I should hope so," she said, voice very level. "The, uh, engorging tissue is mostly on the inside."

"Ah, is it?" Aziraphale asked, distracted, and delved in.

His fingers spreading her open as gently as he would a three-thousand-year-old papyrus and making a little noise of interest. No, no bigger on the inside, but certainly much more coral pink and glimmering with the last of the day's light, and maybe a bit more recognizable from his experience at this angle. She bit her lip, but she couldn't fault the angel for any lack of care. He was treating the whole adventure with the same fussiness with which he would handle a first-edition Chaucer.

Crowley cleared her throat.

"It's sort of... the other way around," she said. "From your twinks, I mean."

"In what sense is that?" Aziraphale asked, his demeanor becoming more academic by the second, prodding at surprisingly cool skin what with her being so flushed.

He wished he had his bifocals (not quite enough to inspire them to be miraculously found in his front pocket) and leaned in for a better look, warm breath spilling over her thighs when he ducked. Crowley was going to answer, of course, but warm breath ghosting over skin that grew more sensitive by the second and--!

A little choked gasp escaped her before she could catch it.

"Are you quite all right?" But Aziraphale did little more than glance up at the noise, so fascinated was he with the way the scaling seemed to disappear within her.

"Hm? Mm-hmm," Crowley managed between tightly pressed lips, her fingers tapping a quick, confused rhythm on the worktable.

Taking Crowley at her word, Aziraphale spread her open just a little bit more and noticed a bead set into the folds and with blunt and clever fingertips he traced its shape, tugging back a fold to reveal it further. Crowley jolted, one foot kicking at the air.

"Careful with that!" she blurted out, mostly because she wasn't sure what else to say. ('Congratulations'? Ridiculous.)

"Ah!" Aziraphale jumped back a foot, wide-eyed with both hands up in surrender. "Sorry! Sorry! Sorry sorry!"

"It's fine," Crowley managed, starting to get somewhat red faced herself. "It's just... very sensitive." She chuckled weakly. "The little bald man in the canoe, you know." 

"Who?!" Aziraphale asked, looking around in fear at being caught with his pants down--er, her pants down.

Well, he wouldn't know, would he? Dammit.

"No, it's-- it's just a figure of speech, angel," she said, shakily reaching out to grab his shoulder. "It's slang for the, uh, well, the clitoris. The thing you just touched."

"Oh~Oh, did I find it?!" Aziraphale looked absolutely delighted, returning to his spot between her spindly thighs and spreading her much more gingerly than before. It did seem a little bit more familiar than those flower petal folds, pearly head sinking into a hidden shaft with a slight hood.

"You did," Crowley said, somewhere between relieved that she didn't have to explain it and surprised that, well-- that she didn't have to explain it.

"Oh! Hear that's quite hard!" Aziraphale smiled brightly at his accomplishment, and dragging his fingers a little lower. She cleared her throat and tried to stay still, but it was getting increasingly difficult. Dry, they caught on very delicate skin (also a similarity to his past experience) and he unthinkingly licked his fingertips and found it much more easily to slickly stroke along Crowley's newly-formed sex. "Good on me!"

"Hrngh," was all Crowley said. Then she cleared her throat and tried again, "Yeah, hey, some people go their entire lives not knowing it exists. Keep, ah... keep doing that." Or, a whole six-thousand years, in Aziraphale's case.

Yet there was always a first time for everything! The angel drew his fingers down either side of the hard little stem buried beneath the hood, then up again and smiled tentatively up at her, "Like that, you?"

The demon gave a nod that was a little more frantic than she'd meant it to be, followed by a smile just on the calmer side of manic. "It's good. You're doing good."

Her voice was husky and, well, Crowley's voice was always on the throatier side, but this was enough to catch Aziraphale's disembodied attention. He looked up at her with some concern, noting now how her cheeks had come to resemble her hair. 

"Are you very sure you're alright?"

"Well, not if you stop!" Crowley said, a plaintive note entering her voice.

She cleared her throat, going a touch more red, and continued, "I mean, I am trying to teach you something here, angel."

There. Condescension. The perfect cover.

"Oh, right! Yes, yes, sorry," Aziraphale said with an amenable re-wetting of his fingers before going back to his business.

"Honestly," Crowley said, pretending her voice didn't hitch, "you'd forget your own head if I wasn't around to remind you sometimes."

"There,is that better?" Aziraphale asked.

He noted a mild change (perhaps a bit bigger, more flush?) was beginning to see what Crowley had meant when she said, 'minor biological differences.' intent and gentle strokes at the swelling labial folds and hardening clitoris. Crowley made a noise more frog than snake, then nodded, looping one lanky leg over Aziraphale's shoulder, as if to keep him in place.

Ignoring the urge to help correct her stockings--they were falling without the suspenders--for certainty that Crowley would be the one correcting him, Aziraphale continued his explorations. Dragging his fingertips down ever so carefully, he traced the way the pattern turned from gilded-edge scales that caught the light and gave way to a glistening rosy-red just inside the deepest part that seemed to furrow up inside her, and, and! And before he knew it, Aziraphale had nearly come nose-to- nose -er ...  _ oh my. _

"Wha-- why are you stopping?" Crowley asked, whined really, raising her head enough to see that slightly gobsmacked expression on Aziraphale's face. Nothing unusual in that; by Crowley's estimate, the angel had spent three of the last six thousand years in confused startlement. But right now?

" _ What? _ " she hissed.

"Oh, nothing, just ... I see the similarities you were speaking of," Aziraphale said, trailing off awkwardly with a, "But..." The irritation on Crowley's face was withering, though, and so he continued, "Does it, ah, get any ... bigger?"

With that he gestured with his freehand a stroking motion.

Crowley stared at him for a long, silent, increasingly awkward moment.

"No," she said finally, reminding herself with some force that Aziraphale was, in fact, a complete naïf when it came to anything outside of the penile persuasion. "You don't-- you can't stroke it like a dick, angel; you'll have to think up something else."

"Oh."

He looked disappointed. The expression turned quickly to thought and then slowly to eureka, then he spread her vulva open and then leaned in to expertly suck at Crowley's clitoris. A glance of heavenly-blue eyes upwards allowed him to see that he had done well. Crowley managed an expression somewhere around 'shocked' before her arms gave out and she flopped back onto the work table with a heavy thud.

"That'sss-- that's good," she managed at the ceiling.

Delight seemed to glow through Aziraphale and he curled his tongue around just what he'd found, humming happily. The demon's hands flailed ineffectually in the air for a moment before grasping the edge of the table and clutching hard. The imprint of scales stood out against her white knuckles and the way her heel dug into his back was also quite encouraging, so Aziraphale took hold of the demon's thighs and steadied her in place while he mixed both a suckle and a hum simultaneously.

Crowley tried to choke back a moan, and entirely failed, her nails digging squeaky, little grooves into the wood; she thought that for someone who'd never seen a vulva before, Aziraphale certainly was doing well enough with it. 

"Not so different," he mused, completely unprompted, then traced his tongue down the folds of her lips and taste just how wet she had become--the flavor, again, a bit different than he was used to when usually between a mortal's legs. Hmm.

"Well, the tissue is roughly the-- oh, fuck-- the same," Crowley babbled. "Just, uh, arranged differently, hell's sake, angel."

Her hips jerked needily towards Aziraphale's tongue and his fingers dug blunt into her thighs to keep them still. Aziraphale dove deeper, licking along the quivery ring of muscle tucked just beyond his view.

The angel lifted his head to say, "Different mouthfeel. Ah, lusher?" and quickly realized he was using wine tasting terms on a part of very mortal anatomy, and ducked back in again to work.

"Are you fuckin' comparing me to wine?" Crowley sputtered, but of course he was, because if you could count on the angel for anything, it was inappropriate remarks on food and drink.

Sitting back and taking on a very academic air, the angel held up one finger and said, "More that I was using winetasting terms to compare you to my, ehm, past experiences but .... yes."

He sheepishly ducked back down. 

Crowley stared at him blankly, her mouth half open, then pushed herself back up to sitting and took on an ever more distinct reptilian look to her features as she seethed, "I'm going to pluck your wingsss, angel, I swear to G-- Sa-- bloody  _ someone! _ "

His only option, as Aziraphale saw it, to bring her back to speechless was to go back in, tracing down her clitoris with the flat of his tongue and plenty of pressure. And it worked, with Crowley flopped back on the table with a wheezy noise, one of her hands finding its way into Aziraphale's hair. Anchored in place by three of the demon's limbs, Aziraphale felt steady enough to get into the work, as it were. Gently clutching her thighs and sliding his hands inward, he blindly held her open to explore with tongue and lip and noting the mixtures of pressures and tempos that could make Crowley squirm the very most.

He was surprisingly - infuriatingly - good at it for a celestial being whose exposure to human genitals had hitherto centered on dick, and Crowley would have been a touch irritated about it if it wasn't for Aziraphale being irritating in the service of getting her off. She moaned through gritted teeth, clutching at the angel's curls as his tongue tasted deeper, and Aziraphale resisting any urge to comment on 'floral undertones' he kept his mind in his work, just as he was so thoroughly encouraged.

Crowley crossed her ankles behind Aziraphale's back and jerked her hips forward, another moan - more free - escaping her.

Her nails on his scalp sent shivers down his spine but he tried ever so hard to recenter his focus. Hands sliding up underneath her, the angel held his counterpart in place and plunged his tongue deep within her, taking in the taste of Crowley's pussy at the font. And the flood over his tongue even made Aziraphale moan.

Oh, that was a  _ nice _ noise, especially when the vibrations of it buzzed right into Crowley's clit. She croaked out a noise far more toad-like than entirely suited her serpentine pride, but that was easily drowned out by the far more demonic pride of getting that moan out of her--  _ an _ angel. She kneaded at Aziraphale's scalp in a way that meant to be encouraging, but landed somewhere around ‘sharp’. If he noticed, Aziraphale gave no sign, the root of his tongue aching as he explored the depths of her that he could reach.

Then, as if very suddenly remembering he could, he buried his upper lip and nose into the folds of her labia to find the clitoris and nuzzled it gently while wiggling his tongue--and Crowley bucked like a stallion and flooded Aziraphale's mouth with her orgasm, and the Dowling residence grounds with an unholy scream.

\--

Aziraphale approached the Nanny herself the next morning with a mind to thank her for the anatomy lesson while she took her morning tea on the lawn and the Warlock took his nap in the pram. After a quick glance at the little darling deep in his clearly-demonic seat, he took up a seat at the small table that had, previous to his arrival, only had one chair.

"I had been meaning to thank you."

"Whatever for?" she asked around the rim of her black china teacup.

"It had been one of my New Year's resolutions to try new things."

The nanny had set down her teacup into its matching saucer and turned yellow eyes on the angle, glowing with such a confused anger that they could be seen through her glasses. Just then, Mrs. Dowling was crossing the western lawn while out for her morning jog around the estate, the warmup for her hot yoga class, when she spotted the good Brother Francis and the Nanny herself in golden morning light.

With a smile on her face, the events at the breakfast table still fresh in her mind, and she crossed the lawn for a brief conversation with him.

"Good morning, Brother Francis, Ms. Ashtoreth," she said, as she peered into the pram, oblivious to her son's imminent importance and she blew him some kisses before turning back to them. "Hope you're enjoying your tea time."

"Oh, well, yes," he said, looking confused at the matching white teacup suddenly in his hand. She  _ thought  _ she saw an annoyed smile flitted over Nanny Ashtoreth's face.

"Pardon. Is there something I can help you with, mistress Dowling?" the nanny asked, her voice level and uninteressted.

"It's just that I wanted to tell you about something Warlock said this morning." The brother blanched. "Oh, no! Nothing bad! Just that he was talking about you and his nanny and how he would love to see you two married one day."

The color returned to his cheeks with a force and Mrs. Dowling couldn't help a laugh.

"I know! So ridiculous, isn't it, the things little minds come up with? But don't worry, I told him that it wasn't like he'd ever see that."

The good Brother laughed, and Nanny Ashtoreth made a sound that might have been one, too.

"Because, you know, Ms. Ashtoreth, you and the good Brother are both, ah, in the el-gee-bee-tee community."

"The--uh, come again?" the gardener asked, after several blinks. 

"Oh, you don't have to worry! I figured it out a long time ago, and I have no problem with it!" She smiled knowingly. "I donate to the HRC."

And Nanny Ashtoreth kept a secret smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Art courtesy of BlitheFool/SmuttyScribblez!
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183218036@N07/49725175036/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 


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